Ten question marks
by clawedd
Summary: "Can I start my questions?" Derek asked. It was another thing that was in his conditions: he had the right to ten questions in each of their dates. Braeden rolled her eyes when he said it but she wondered if it was as stupid as it sounded. She sighed. "I thought we were done with that." (One-shot)


** A/N: a) **Derek lives in an apartment in this story. **b)** Hope you're all excited about those two as I am!

That's it. That's my note.

* * *

Braeden walked in without knocking or ringing the bell.

Derek stopped reading and looked at her, watching her as she put her bag down.

"The door was opened..." she said, though they both knew it was a lie. They had been going on dates for at least two weeks and he paid attention to everything she said or did. There simply weren't locked doors for Braeden – but that was just basic, verging the obvious, information.

"The door is always opened" he said. His hands were still holding the book firmly but he was completely ignoring it. His gaze was following Braeden's fingers working, taking the bullets off her gun and piling them together on the top of the table – it was something she did in all of their dates, and Derek though it was her way of working on their trust. Although he didn't tell her, he appreciated it.

"You mean, the door is always opened _for me_?" She took off her boots. He had insisted a thousand times that they couldn't wear anything uncomfortable that night. Reluctantly, Braeden accepted all of his terms – and he'd certainly accept hers too if only she had told them. So there was the two of them: no shoes or expensive clothing.

Derek was doing all he could to act normal but his hands were sweaty, so he couldn't help but compare himself to a teenager. He made dinner and hoped she liked the smell of candles. He did everything right, he shouldn't be nervous. Thing was, he wanted her; so bad it made his stomach twirl and his mouth get dry. Instead of butterflies, he had each letter of Braeden's name on fire, swinging back and forth like a dear memory.

Braeden put her hair in a ponytail and sat next to him on the couch. She wasn't quite sure about her feelings or maybe she just couldn't admit them to herself. She gazed him back, attentive of his every detail – the beard, the eyes and a scar beneath it. The biggest difference between them would be that she was more controlled, firm. She felt something, she knew, but she was being _so_ careful. As she always was; Derek was ready to give in and he seemed to do that too easily. Braeden didn't know if that was a good or a bad characteristic.

They had been looking at each other silently for a couple of minutes when she decided to say:

"Are we flirting already?"

He didn't answer. His hand went up to her face and, differently from their first date, she stayed still, rarely blinking. Derek caressed her cheek, her lips and eventually, the scars.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Not really" she replied, as she also caressed him, in his arm, his shoulders and neck.

Derek looked at the balcony that divides the living room from the kitchen and smelled the food he cooked. He thought about the romantic crap he was setting himself for and felt like laughing at himself.

"Your loss, I'm a great cooker".

"I'll eat later".

His left hand had slipped to her waist and he didn't even notice. He might have thrown the book across the room – that would explain the noise of glass breaking.

"Can I start my questions?" Derek asked. It was another thing that was in his conditions: he had the right to ten questions in each of their dates. Braeden rolled her eyes when he said it but she wondered if it was as stupid as it sounded.

She sighed.

"I thought we were done with that."

"Do you have a nickname?" he ignores her complaint.

"No." she answered, way too quickly.

"Brae?" he raised an eyebrow. Derek's eyes widen. "Rae!?"

"No!" Braeden laughed. "Don't call me baby either."

"What about... Sweetie?"

It took four seconds for her to answer: "Only if I'm holding a gun. And I shall remind you, I'm _not_ right now so don't you dare." She continued slowly: "No nicknames."

"You're making this really hard."

Braeden took advantage of his words and sat on his lap. Not for a moment they stopped softly touching each other's skin or looking into each other's eyes. Her hands held his hair as she kissed his neck.

"What did you say?"

Derek let his head fall back as he laughed nervously.

"Oh, God." He murmured. "You're..."

"Making this really hard, I know. I actually heard you, I'm sorry." But she had an unapologetic look on her face.

Derek noticed her heartbeat was too fast.

"Braeden, you're distracting me..."

"Don't worry, it's intentional" she said, as she continued to place kisses all over him.

"I wan— I want to talk— to you" he breathed heavily. See? Too easily.

"You want to talk _about_ me. Not the same thing."

"Why is it so hard for you to open up?"

"You're not much different from me when it comes to that."

"I'm working on it."

She grabbed his hair tighter. "Why are we still talking? Huh? Why are we not done with the talking?" Then she finally pressed her lips to his.

He kissed her back, of course, because how could he not? Although, not long after, Derek gently pushed her away.

"Can you just answer me?"

"What do you want me to say?"

He started to repeat the question but she cut him. "I trust in only a few people, but I rarely talk to them. I'm not 16 anymore, I don't have time to holiday's dinners and sleepovers."

"You take your solo rule too seriously, then". That wasn't a question.

"It's safer that way." She looked away for the first time.

"Is it?" he wondered. "Will it be a problem for us? For me?"

Braeden looked into his eyes again. She was impossible to read.

"What, are we going to 'date_ date'_ now?"

"It's what I've been planning" he revealed, and, as soon as he did, he relaxed. The previous tension, the sweaty palms and aching back, was gone. He stared at her with expectation.

She froze. The only thing that came out of her mouth was a whispered 'what'. Suddenly, it was Derek's name burning inside her and her throat feeling weird.

He pulled her closer and kissed her.

"I want something real..." he murmured.

"I-I don't know what to say, honestly."

"I'm just tired of meaningless sex. I want mo—

"It's not meaningless" she immediately told him. "Not with you."

Derek sighed.

"That's a good start... So, what do you think?"

Braeden closed her eyes. "I think I'm scared."

"Wow, that's a first" he mocked.

"Oh, shut up." She rested her head on his shoulder and he hugged her tighter than he ever did. "It's just... It's been so long since... But with you is just so easy. Everything is so natural. I'm scared but I don't know why, not exactly..."

There was a long pause.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked, in his most serious tone of voice.

"Can we just be done with those questions?"

"Answer me. This is the last one, I promise. Have you been in love?"

"Well, _now_ I have."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She kissed him hoping he'd understand. Her kiss was longer and more passionate than all their other kisses, and it reflected how they both felt. Derek gave in since the first date, so the kiss, probably more than anything, was Braeden's surrender.

"I'll ask one more time and one more time only" she said, really fast.

Derek took off his shirt in record time. He couldn't stop smiling, not being able to contain happiness inside of him. They knew each other enough to read between the lines. So Derek thought about all the little things she did, like when it started to rain on their third date and she wrapped her arm around him as he tried to protect her with his jacket. She couldn't stop laughing that day; or when she looked away and tried to hide a smile when he complimented her on their second date.

Derek took a deep breath, inhaling her perfume. They were _in love_, period. But it would take a while to say the L word out loud, because a) he was certain the only rule Braeden would have warned him about is that she likes action, _attitude_, not words and empty promises and b) he'd like to do it in the most especial way, because, yes, he was shamelessly into romantic crap.

He put his hand under her shirt, drawing an invisible line in her skin.

"_Can we go to bed_?" she begged, for the last time.

His hand finally reached her bra as he whispered to her ear:

"No... I kind of like the couch."


End file.
